We went shopping today for a duffel for me to take on Friday. Because I enjoy a bargain, and because of the outrageous cost of large duffel bags, we headed to our local Goodwill. I'd never been in there, and as I explored, I kept adding things to the cart. We were headed to check out with a few items, plus the large duffel (brand new looking, $2.oo), when I spotted a corner filled with crocheted blankets. I love afghans, I'll tell you right now. We had several in my house growing up, and one in particular I have always remembered with a fondness- brown with colorful patterns, large enough to wrap my whole body in when I was sick, or sad, or just wanted to curl up and watch TV or read.
So I immediately veered off toward the afghans, sorting through red ones, blue ones, multi colored ones.... all the yarn was making me nostalgic (like most everything these days!), when I saw it, peeking out at the very end of a row, hidden by the others. A dark brown and color patterned afghan. Large enough to wrap up in when one is sick, sad, or just needs a place to curl up and make, or relive, a memory. A blanket much like the one we'd had; a blanket put together of nothing but yarn, needles, and obvious love and patience.
The afghan is on the back of my couch now, and it may not be contemporary, in style, or even all that gorgeous. It may be itchy to cover up with, it may eventually fray and fade. But it will cover my children the way my mother's covered me, when they are fevered and achy, when someone breaks their hearts. And they will never know, until they are much older, how much something like that can mean, what it can bring back to you in a flash- things you forget, things you put away. Things you lose, like the afghan of my youth. this blanket, like certain smells, tastes and sounds, will hopefully someday remind them of what it reminds me of- home.